Disclaimer: This is a review, and as such will contain opinions, spoilers and (often) general shit talking. (If you talk about what you don’t like about a work, you learn a lot. When you think through a work with the stakes presented to you by the creator, by the context of the work, you learn a lot. I review things, not because I love to dislike things, but because dislike contains rich and vital information for the process of experiencing something, but I cannot access it without interrogating it.) So, if you don’t want to have this thing spoiled for you, or don’t know how to behave when a person on the internet, that you don’t know, has opinions that don’t line up with yours, this review is not for you. It’s also not for the author/creator of the work. Please and thank you.
From one of America’s iconic writers, a stunning book of electric honesty and passion. Joan Didion explores an intensely personal yet universal experience: a portrait of a marriage–and a life, in good times and bad–that will speak to anyone who has ever loved a husband or wife or child.
Wow. I mean, wow.
If you know me, you know I love brutal honesty. If it’s served with love, even better. And if it’s packaged in sarcastic self-observation and dry humour, all the better.
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion is a deep dive into grief and the things that hurt the most. And though I will heartily recommend this to anyone, I’m also going to tell you, don’t read it.
Not unless you’ve made peace with your own mortality.
Not unless you’ve developed the kind of resilience that sees you through the hardest, darkest parts of your life.
Not unless you’re ready dive into grief at the deep and and sit there with it without escape.
Having said all that, if you’ve ever lost and fallen into the deep pit of grief, this can very well bring you some comfort.
Death is the great equalizer. Truly.
I didn’t love the name-dropping. And there was quite a lot of it—people and places, mostly from a time and a country that I’m not super well-versed in. There was also talk of using fancy china, fancy bathrobes and mention of stores I’ll never set foot in.
Even so, this was more to describe Didion’s experience and Didion’s life, which is a life that is very different from mine, so while it got a bit tedious it didn’t feel snobbish or pretentious. Those things, those people and those places were just a part of her life, so who am I to hold that against her?
One of the reasons I read personal essays and biographies is to peer into other people’s lives, and when you do that, you just accept what comes with it as normal for them. And wealth, while it may provide many a luxury, doesn’t save you from death, tragedy or grief.
And I supposed in some ways it was a small comfort, that even if you’ve got a lot of material wealth, it only protects you so far. We’re all vulnerable.
Did I enjoy it?
Yes, even though it was very sad and hard at times to read.
Beautiful, heart wrenching and so human, this is a beautiful read that grabs you by the throat and shoves you up against the harsh reality of the world, of life. As Didion usually does, she cuts right to the quick and shows no mercy, takes no prisoners.
I am beyond grateful that she had the courage to share this with the rest of us, because it is an intimate look at something incredibly personal.
It shows courage as well as compunction because I recognise that same drive in her to use words to make sense of the world, of my feelings, to uncover that which lays hidden deep beneath many layers of confusion and avoidance and unawareness.
All I can say is, thank you. My heart weeps with the words in this book. ❤️
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